


Genetic Markers

by Vulgarweed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Parenthood, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Trying To Conceive, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, maybe Sherlock <i>was</i> feeling a little bit left out of that whole parenthood business. Not anymore.</p><p>Written for Porn Battle XV. Prompts: marriage, clues, robe, babyroom, sharing, baby, arrangement, co-parents, hormones, polyamory, big bed, together, forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rain pattered down in the windows as Mary whispered softly, “Let's bring it up to him tonight. I want to get started.”

“Impatient,” John murmured, kissing her neck.

“Not getting any younger,” she reminded him, sing-song. "Tick-tock."

The little one was probably nearly down for the night now. From the babyroom came soft pacing footfalls and a very pianissimo rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” for solo violin. How the haughty had fallen. Soon the last note would die away, and the flat would fall silent as everyone waited for the consent of a baby's sleep. The monitor would crackle softly – for all they knew, someone in MI6 was on it – and then Sherlock would pad quietly into the bedroom in his robe (which one was he wearing tonight? John liked the blue, but Mary loved the red) and nearly always stand there a moment at the foot of the big bed, with a heart-shaking diffidence. 

He might watch for a while, drink in Mary's quiet moans as John nibbled at her breasts and lifted her nightgown; he might smile in that lusty way if he was feeling sure he'd be invited. (And after all this time, how could he doubt? He always would be; he would always crawl in eagerly and tangle with both of them wantonly in a three-way circuit that sparked longer and brighter and wilder than any dual connection any of them had ever known.)

“We could just let him deduce it,” John said wickedly into the top curve of her right breast as he slid his hand down her hip, just brushing an old mass of puckered, damaged skin. (There was no one in this marriage without a bullet scar. Maybe that even made it easier to forgive the fact that one party to the relationship had given another one his; look at it as an initiation or a sort of wedding token. Sherlock might even be able to do that. John couldn't quite.)

“It's not his strong point, though, is it?” she said, turning and squirming around beneath John.

“He knew you were pregnant before you did.”

“Not completely sure he knew how it was done, though.”

John snickered. “Didn't hear you complaining about his technique the other night.”

“Oh, he's certainly learned by now. Very well.”

“Just tell him he still needs practice in . . . that. Just that.”

“So you -” Mary said, laughing, running fingers down John's chest to pluck at his sensitive nipple, “out of the goodness of your heart, are going to willingly exile yourself from my gates of heaven for as long as it takes - ”

“Oh god, please,” John giggled, snorting,

“While we insist that the other man in our marriage plough my valley as often as possible, for Queen and country - ” Mary's hand was sliding down his belly, running teasing fingertips down the top of his heatening shaft - “and it's all because he needs practice.”

“That's right,” John said breathlessly as she stroked him and he moved his hand up her thigh to his lodestar, unable to keep his fingers out of the debated territory, wet and swelling as it was, “not at all because we want another child -”

“And were - _oh, fuck, John, yeah_ – afraid he was feeling left out with the first one already - ”

“Oh yeah Mary, _fuck,_ slow down, that just feels too good – yeah, he needs to know he's really with us . . . forever . . . all the way . . . and it'd be a shame to let genes like that go to waste –“

“And it's not like - ” Mary panted, pushing John's head down between her thighs, “he hasn't been listening to everything we said.”

“I have been, but I'd really like to be sure I've heard everything correctly to make sure I've come to the right conclusion,” said Sherlock, popping out of the shadows like a spook. “Because my current interpretation is bizarre even by our standards.”

Mary gave a heated little mewl as John began to lick deftly at her clit; he was clearly hoping to find an excuse to contribute little to the negotiation. “What's so bizarre about – ooh – wanting another baby? Nothing wrong with having two!”

“Of course not, but an outside observer listening in -” (and Mary could not help but notice Sherlock still kept a safe distance from the big bed. Oh, that just couldn't stand.) “would probably interpret it to mean that John was planning to abstain from vaginal intercourse with you, and to encourage me to partake of it frequently, in the hopes that _I_ would be the one to impregnate you.”

'GOD, you're thick,” Mary said, with a little squeal as John's tongue picked up pace and her hand clenched in his hair. “It's the only way it's going to work, isn't it? Believe me, if someone else in this marriage could get knocked up instead of me I'd be all for that!”

“Someone else . . . in this marriage,” Sherlock said, weighing the phrase in a contemplative tone of voice, as though he hadn't quite thought of it that way before with quite the same quality of weight. “I hadn't . . . ” He went still and silent.

“Did I just break your brain? John, is that it what it looks like?”

“Can't talk. Busy,” John slurped.

Mary sighed and winked at Sherlock. “That's our husband. A man of action.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said finally. “John is certainly that.” He was fidgeting, and that robe – the red one – seemed about to slide from his shoulders of its own will, and his thin pyjamas were only accentuating his interest in the action before him and the indecent proposal.

“So what do you say? I think I'm ovulating – OH GOD, OH JOHN, MMMMYESNONOTYET YES. Hormones off the scale, it's awful, I'm a cat in heat. Will you just come here and fuck me, and then maybe John can fuck you, and -”

John nodded so emphatically that he moved his tongue just so that Mary _did_ come. Just a little one, just one sharp yelp and a few shaking twitches that derailed her train of thought for just a moment. Then she was fine and right again and ready for many more. 

“See, Sherlock? He wants to, he wants to so bad, and so do I, and haven't you ever thought about it?”

“I'd never thought about it before tonight,” Sherlock admitted, and he was smiling now. There was a probably a new room forming in the mind palace, and only he knew what it looked like. And whether or not there was a cradle in it. “But I've thought about it more in the last eight seconds than most people think about anything in a year.”

“So?” Mary said hopefully. “Is the game on?”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed calculatingly. “You do understand, I'll be very interested in studying the minute daily changes in your cervical mucus as we go through the conception process.”

John groaned. “That's nice. I'm really fucking horny over here. Can you fuck first and take samples later?”

“I do understand the basic order of things, John,” Sherlock said, shucking off the last of his clothes and pouncing hungrily into Mary's arms. She was soaking wet, he was throbbing hard, and the sight and sounds and scents of their vigorous coupling almost got John off without a touch.

John knew he'd be compensated well for his minor sacrifice, though – he was the luckiest man on earth, after all – just a little while later he'd be thrusting into his gorgeous husband's lazy, pliant body while his gorgeous wife did her best to keep her lubed fingers in his hole and her kissing, biting mouth on his nape. Between the three of them, there were at least a dozen possible sexual acts he enjoyed very much, and only one he'd have to forgo until it was confirmed that Mary's remarkable fertility had done its work, which shouldn't take long.

It wasn't until the sleepy haze of the next morning that John remembered to look forward to meeting a new person, hopefully within a year. A sweet face and precocious interest in blood-spatter patterns? Dark curls, and a violin-playing insomniac by age 5? And would he see a few more glimpses of the child Mary had been, knowledge that was forever lost?

Over breakfast while feeding little Violet in her high-chair, Mary had threatened to “have a chat with Mrs. Holmes about pushing out the cheekbones.” Sherlock had made that particular eyebrow raise that meant something like, “I cannot prevent Mycroft from making you disappear, if it comes to that,” and she had laughed like a clear stream of water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Between the three of them, there were at least a dozen possible sexual acts he enjoyed very much, and only one he'd have to forgo until it was confirmed that Mary's remarkable fertility had done its work, which shouldn't take long.”

[SAVED TO DRAFT ON JOHN H. WATSON'S BLOG:]

 

1.Performing cunnilingus on Mary  
2.Receiving fellatio from Mary  
3.Manual stimulation performed on Mary  
4.Receiving manual stimulation from Mary  
5.Rimming Mary  
6.Being rimmed by Mary  
7.Anally penetrating Mary  
8.Being anally penetrated by Mary (dildo, and she knows how to use it)  
9.Performing fellatio on Sherlock  
10.Receiving fellatio from Sherlock  
11.Anally penetrating Sherlock  
12.Being anally penetrated by Sherlock  
13.Manual stimulation performed on Sherlock  
14.Receiving manual stimulation from Sherlock  
15.Rimming Sherlock  
16.Being rimmed by Sherlock  
17.Performing vaginal fingering on Mary  
18.Performing anal fingering on Mary  
19.Receiving anal fingering from Mary  
20.Performing anal fingering on Sherlock  
21.Receiving anal fingering from Sherlock  
22.Kissing. Lots of kissing. Kissing everyone. Also nipples. I love nipples. And necks, god yes. Sherlock and Mary both have such nice nipples and necks. Mine aren't much to look at but they feel good. I like having them touched and sucked and licked and bitten. They both know that. God I love them. Mary has great tits. Sherlock has a great arse. Put down the whisky glass, self.  
23.EVERYTHING BECOMES TEN TIMES HOTTER WHEN THE OTHER SPOUSE IS WATCHING.  
24.Daisy chains. Spit-roasting. One partner entertaining another through the third's refractory period. Going down on one person while fucking another. Going down on one person while another one fucks me. Tasting Mary on Sherlock. Tasting Sherlock in Mary. All sorts of things that three people can do that two can't. I can't even write it all. I type slow, and I want to get off the computer and find at least one of them to play with right now.

 

[EDIT:24 HOURS LATER]

Wow. I thought it was about a dozen acts I enjoyed as much as that one, but it turns out it's probably more like fifty. Also, this is embarrassing as fuck and I'll never post it, but it's good to be able to write it down.

 

Let's recap:  
Sacrifices: 

1) I don't put my cock in Mary's vag until we know for sure that she's pregnant by Sherlock. I'm certainly not giving up good sex. (see list above.) Minor sacrifice.  
2 )We'll have to put up with Sherlock Holmes, Armchair OB-GYN. _Major_ sacrifice – more for Mary than me. I'm just glad that the first most absolute hard-and-fast rule for our triad was NO MORE SHOOTING WITHIN THE MARRIAGE EVER. I think if I were a pregnant woman being subjected to Sherlock's “scientific” attentions, I would want to. But she knows she just can't.

Rewards:  
1) Another child. I love them. I want more.  
2) Sherlock might finally GET IT, that he is in our lives forever as a full partner. It will take a lot. We've had our issues in the past. We still do. What matters to me is that one phrase he said in his best man toast: “We have a lifetime...” I want Sherlock to live forever, and I want the last voice he hears to be mine. Or Mary's, If I don't outlive him. (I hope I don't. I can't lose him again. Let him lose me for a change, see how he likes it.)  
3) I'll get to meet a new person who's composed of the genetic material of the two loves of my life, combined. I'll get to watch that child growing up and see aspects of both of them manifest as a whole new wonderful person. He or she will be the younger sibling of the beautiful amazing girl that Mary and I made, who shows signs of both of us. I AM the luckiest man on earth.

[SHERLOCK, IF YOU HACK MY BLOG AND POST THIS, I **WILL** BITE YOUR COCK OFF. EVENTUALLY. SOONER OR LATER. MAYBE TONIGHT, MAYBE 20 YEARS FROM NOW. NOW THAT YOU KNOW THAT, YOU'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO RELAX AND ENJOY A BLOWJOB FROM ME AGAIN IF YOU DO IT, SO DON'T.]

 

_[JOHN, WHY DO YOU THINK I WOULD WANT OUR PRIVATE LIFE SPLAYED ALL OVER THE TABLOIDS? TRUE, I WAS AMUSED WHEN JANINE FILLED THEM ALL WITH HER FLATTERING FANTASIES ABOUT MY SEXUAL PROWESS, BUT I ENJOYED IT SPECIFICALLY **BECAUSE** IT WAS FALSE. THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO SEEM TO ENJOY BELIEVING THAT I HAD SEX WITH JANINE SEVEN TIMES A NIGHT WHILE SHE WORE THAT HIDEOUS HAT. LET THEM. IT'S HARMLESS **BECAUSE** IT ISN'T TRUE. TRUTH IS WHAT IS TRULY DAMAGING. THAT IS WHY OUR LIVES ARE AS DANGEROUS AS THEY ARE – BECAUSE I CANNOT HELP SEEKING OUT THE TRUTH. THAT'S WHY MARY SHOT ME – BECAUSE SHE WAS TERRIFIED OF HAVING HER TRUTH REVEALED. JUSTIFIED? NO. UNDERSTANDABLE? YES. DUMB? YES, SHE SHOULD HAVE PISTOL-WHIPPED ME INTO UNCONSCIOUSNESS LIKE SHE DID WITH JANINE AND THAT WHITE-SUPREMACIST SECURITY GUARD (OH, HOW LABOUR STANDARDS HAVE DECLINED) AND THEN BLOWN MAGNUSSEN'S BRAINS OUT AND SLIPPED OUT THE SAME WAY SHE CAME IN. THAT WOULD HAVE SAVED EVERYONE A LOT OF TROUBLE. MAGNUSSEN NEEDED KILLING, AND ULTIMATELY I HAD TO DO IT, AND I DO STILL RATHER RESENT THAT. EVERYTHING I DID, I DID BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. BUT PLEASE DON'T EVER TRY TO MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN MY LOVE OF YOU AND MY LOVE OF THE TRUTH. THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO MARY, BECAUSE I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW TO HACK THIS TOO. --SH]_

_[You are absolutely right about my regrets. :( You gotta understand, though - I was like a recovering addict being spotted taking a hit. I know you can relate to that, Sherlock. Magnussen threatened everything that was important to me, so I needed to take him out – and then you showed up randomly and messed with my plan. I want you to know, though – as soon as I got out of that office, it hit me how stupid I'd been. The worst part was when John told me you'd pulled through, I was . . . not happy about that. That's really fucked up, isn't it? I hated Magnussen and I loved you, and I still was more afraid of you than him. But that was stupid beyond belief if I really wanted everyone to believe I was reformed, and that was the moment that I knew I still let my fears rule my mind. I let a known blackmailer live as an eyewitness to my cold-blooded shooting of my husband's best friend. Please believe me, Sherlock. When I was an assassin, I was actually much better at my job than this!]_

[That's incredibly fucked up, Mary. But I did things in Afghanistan that were fucking awful in the cold light of day. I get it. I still don't like it, but I get it.]

_[“GOTTA.” YOU ARE SO AMERICAN, MARY. CALLED IT. SOMEDAY, NOT YET, THERE WILL COME A TIME WHEN I'LL TELL YOU BOTH A LITTLE MORE ABOUT THOSE TWO LOST YEARS. SUFFICE TO SAY THAT I UNDERSTAND THE DRIVE FOR REVENGE THAT FUELS SO MUCH CRIME MUCH MORE INTENSELY NOW. PLEASE STOP WORRYING ABOUT MY MORAL VIRGINITY. MAGNUSSEN WAS NOT MY FIRST KILL. I LIKE OUR LIFE AS IT IS CURRENTLY. I WANT TO HAVE MORE CASES, BUT I'D RATHER THEY DIDN'T INVOLVE INTERNATIONAL ESPIONAGE; I'M CURRENTLY VERY BORED WITH SPIES AND ASSASSINS AND TERRORISTS. **{IF YOU HAVE A CASE OF THIS NATURE, PLEASE DON'T BOTHER ME WITH IT UNTIL AT LEAST A YEAR FROM NOW. AND NEVER IF YOU'RE MYCROFT}** I'M ALSO REALLY ENJOYING HAVING A LOT OF EXCELLENT SEX WITH BOTH OF YOU AND LEARNING ABOUT CHILD DEVELOPMENT, WHICH I KNEW LITTLE OF UNTIL RECENTLY. I'VE ALSO BEEN READING ABOUT BEES, AND THEY'RE FASCINATING. I KNOW YOU WERE GOOD AT YOUR FORMER JOB, MARY. JOHN DIDN'T READ YOUR FILE, BUT I DID. --SH]_

 

**Sherlock really sincerely means to hit 'save to draft' and hits 'post' instead. He realizes his mistake and changes it back immediately, but not before Anthea gets a screencap**

 

PUBLIC BLOG POST OF DR JOHN H. WATSON, FOUR MONTHS LATER:

 

I know my readers are here for the case stories (hope you enjoyed the last one. As Indiana Jones said, why does it always have to be snakes?), but I do have to post one exciting personal announcement here. It's confirmed: Mary is expecting again.

COMMENTS

Mrs Turner: Not your babysitter.

Mrs Turner: This is Mrs Hudson.

John H. Watson: I got that. :)

Mrs Turner: unless you really need it. I am home most nights and my hearing is very good for my age. *wink*

theimprobableone: Congratulations! Hmm. I have a theory, though.

Sherlock Holmes: Shut up, Philip. Whatever your theory is, you are wrong.

theimprobableone: I figured out you were still alive, didn't I?


	3. Coda: The Tiniest Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 221B. John takes great pleasure in telling Mycroft the truth about Mary's second child.

John had never seen Mycroft’s resemblance to his brother quite so strongly as in the long-awaited, now-cherished moment when the elder Holmes stood frozen, speechless, and blinking. Oh, John was _savouring_ this. Apparently so was little newborn Victor in his arms, who fixed Mycroft with a vague silvery gaze and seemed to snicker.

“Just trying to save you some expense on those sneaky DNA tests I know you run,” John said offhandedly. “Molly already did that. She didn’t believe me when I told her, and now she owes me twenty quid.”

Oh yes. Mycroft really could gape like a … well, you know. John wasn’t going to let a single nuance of this moment slip. “Be nice,” John said, “Or I’ll tell you all about watching Sherlock and Mary making him. The old-fashioned way. Not a turkey baster in sight.”

“I … don’t believe that meets the criteria for ‘need-to-know basis.’”

“But you’re a nosy bastard.” And a terrified but morbidly fascinated one too, if John’s skills in reading Holmes faces were at the level they should be. “Now – here, put your hands out like this. So you can hold your nephew.”

Before now, Mycroft had been seven years old the first and only time he’d held a baby.


	4. Lovers Lie Abed: The Missing Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scenes from the heroic quest to conceive Watson-Holmes Baby #2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated birthday gift for [wiggleofjudas](wiggleofjudas)
> 
> Title from "In My Craft or Sullen Art" by Dylan Thomas: "...and the lovers lie abed, with all their griefs in their arms."

Mary lay back on the couch, thinking neither of her men were anywhere to be found, so she'd have to take care of herself if she wanted any sleep tonight. She pushed up her nightgown and teased at her nipples, pushed her hand down into her knickers and throbbed her fingers on her clit. She gasped and whimpered as she worked.

Case night. Bloody fucking case night. Which was likely to blend into a case week. Oh, she so wished she could hack both their phones and block any number even remotely related to Lestrade or anyone who'd ever met him. She knew how, but she also knew she wasn't allowed.

Since she was all too sure she was alone in the flat, she was shameless on the sofa in the parlor, jacking herself hard. (Her vibrator was on the second floor, and she was at that frustrating point in her cycle where desire was very high but fulfillment didn't come easy. She was trying but she was tired, and Mrs. Hudson had the baby downstairs, and one never knows.)

She heard footsteps on the stairs, and a deep, beloved voice: “Need a hand?”

Oh, maybe she wouldn't need a fantasy anymore. She was surprised to see him, but she managed to hide that. “Ah, you're here right when I need you, Sherlock.”

“I repeat, do you need a hand?” Sherlock asked as he stood over her, unwrapping his scarf and letting his coat fall to the floor and unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his trousers.

“No, I don't need a hand, I have two of my own,” Mary said with a grin, still teasing herself wantonly, gazing up at him. “I don't have a penis, though, so I'll take one of those if you're offering.”

Sherlock froze for a moment and then started babbling. “Well, I mean, after all we're trying to, I mean, conceive, as we said, so I think I should --”

Mary smiled and sat up. “You're not a stud horse, Sherlock. Let's just have some fun. Make each other feel good.”

Mary heard a second set of footsteps on the stairs. Distinctly John. Oh, good, so very good.

The nice thing about Sherlock's sense of obligation was that he'd stripped so quickly, so that when Mary sat up, the head of his cock was in close proximity to her face, so it was very easy for her to wrap one hand around its base and the other around Sherlock's hip, to draw him in and pull the slick head of him into her mouth. And then jerk her eyes fast enough to see the look on John's face when he heard the sound Sherlock made.

That was such a fantastic juxtaposition – John's heated, lusty expression, the varied music of Sherlock's cries and moans as she worked her lips and sucked him, varying the pressure and speed, using her tongue and her throat to pleasure him thoroughly.

John could still take her by surprise though – lunging faster and kneeling more swiftly on the floor by the couch than she thought was possible for him, even on the high of a case with Sherlock. And John got her legs spread gently but authoritatively, and she'd always appreciated that.

Mary found herself at the center of a pleasure field: John's tongue and fingers playing deft and skillful in her cunt; Sherlock's cock in her mouth, thrusting and hungry for every flick of her tongue and pull of her lips. Every movement of John's tongue, so good, so quick and fluid, his eyes fixed upon her as he worked – watching intently what she was doing to Sherlock. The way John closed his lips a little to suck up her juice for a moment before licking back up to her clit again – the texture of his teeth and taste buds on her heightened nerves built her to exquisite madness, and she understood she could take it as best she could and look all the long way up at Sherlock as she bobbed her head up and down on him.

Sherlock's long fingers grasped Mary's hair as he lost control and filled her mouth so full that even though she tried to catch it all, she failed and dribbled a little. Sherlock pulled quickly out of her mouth and slumped down to his knees by the sofa, gasping, and said to Mary, “I'm sorry.”

“Why? Do you think I just swallowed the sperm that could've cured cancer?” She ran her hands through Sherlock's hair and kissed him everywhere she could reach before she lost herself in John's attentions.

Mary pushed John's mouth up and down her slit as she came, thrusting up again and again, and then she relaxed and John crawled sensuously up to her face, and she kissed him with a mouth that still tasted of Sherlock's come. After kissing Mary, John turned his attentions to Sherlock, who was shaking; he placed long, tasting kisses on Sherlock's thighs and cock and stomach and - one by one - his hands.

They all were laughing and swaying a bit as they staggered off to the big bed, all tasting of each other, too tired to think of brushing teeth – both Sherlock and Mary were awkwardly working to peel off bits of John's clothing, as he'd been fully dressed through the whole thing, and that was obviously unacceptable.

They arranged themselves in bed and let Sherlock tell most of the story of the deduction – he really was fucking brilliant, both Mary and John agreed – and placed Sherlock in the middle as he was obviously the most exhausted. There was a lot of slap-happy giggling before, one by one, they fell asleep. Mary last.

***

Snuggling etiquette is always dodgy, but especially in parties of three when the tallest person is in the middle.

Mary is the kind of sleeper who can never stay on one side all night; she flips back and forth. So for half the night, she's very content to rest her back against Sherlock's chest and belly and be held by him – but for the other half, she wants to rest on the other side and hold him, and she can't breathe if there's a chest and shoulder in her airspace. She wants to get Sherlock to turn over so she can spoon up behind him and he can spoon up behind John, but it would be such a hassle to get them all to coordinate, especially since she knows she'll just want to change again in a few hours.

John loves to spoon up behind someone who's smaller than him (or the same height), but he's not yet used to doing it with someone much larger – and when he sleeps alone, he sleeps on his back. He almost misses the nights when he could. He loves both Sherlock and Mary so much it turns him inside out. But he also misses his privacy. For now, though, his face is nudging Sherlock's upper back and neck, and the scent of him is both arousing and relaxing. When John inevitably falls over on his back, he'll take that scent with him and feel content. (He doesn't. He falls asleep with an arm over Sherlock's waist, holding him close. If Sherlock tries to shift away in the night, John will jerk awake, dream-scared that something wants to take Sherlock away from him again.)

Sherlock has very limited experience in sharing a bed with anyone. For him, it's either horribly awkward and he goes stiff and restless, or else he's a complete limpet who wants to curl and cling around his partner. His instincts have no idea what to do when he has two beloved partners, one on each side of him. He doesn't even know who to wrap around. He'd rather get out of bed and spend the rest of the night metabolizing sheep eyeballs than make that decision.

He's not allowed to do that. The minute Sherlock tries to fidget out of the bed, John curls around him from behind and holds him in, a strong arm around his waist.

Mary is in her liking-being-spooned mood. So very much she reaches a hand behind Sherlock's head to grasp his hair, and bends a flexible leg backwards over his, pointing her knee up and depriving both John and Sherlock of covers.

She's half asleep. They all are, so comfortable, so in love, so relaxed. She's wet. Sherlock is hard. Fitted together the way they are, it's only one small movement for Sherlock to push up into her (and Sherlock is so sleepy, he can't be sure it's not John helping him thrust. No – give it a moment. He _is_ sure it _is_ John helping him thrust.)

Yes. There John is, holding Sherlock's hips and rubbing his own cock between Sherlock's arse cheeks as Sherlock and Mary drift and float and bump together like tranquilized whales, in one of the laziest fucks in human history. John is the only one of the three of them who has had more than three hours of sleep in the last 36 – and that was only five, not consecutive.

When Mary wakes up, seven hours later in a tangle of beloved limbs, she can't even remember if any of them actually came.

They must have done, all of them, because the sheets are fucking gross. Not enough that she can be bothered to move herself, or to move either of the unconscious men, though. Not just yet.

***

**Six months later**

Mary is so happy to be pregnant again, and it sets her hormones flaring. She's now far enough along and solid enough in health that it's been announced to family and friends, and the prognosis is good. The baby has a strong heartbeat, and despite what she says, Mary can't really tell jack from those blurry ultrasound pictures - but she's pretty sure it's a boy. Both Sherlock and John seem to think the certain fact that she's carrying Sherlock's child is the sexiest thing any woman on earth has _ever_ done.

Meh, it's all just normal, it's not her first pregnancy, and John seemed to think it was pretty hot when she was carrying his. Men get so proud when their mating behaviour actually works. But Mary certainly doesn't mind basking in their erotic attentions. 

(John, able to penetrate Mary again for the first time in months, takes her slowly from behind, murmuring endearments in her ear, softly biting her neck as his face tightens in ecstasy; Sherlock, at first watching and stroking his own cock in their rhythm, soon can’t take it anymore and falls forward on his knees below them, worshiping the place where they’re joined with his mouth - deep hungry sucking on Mary’s clit, greedy long laps with his tongue at the slick joint of her cunt gripping John’s plunging cock, until all three are keening and shaking. After, she wipes up the worst of the squidge with a flannel and invites Sherlock into her for seconds. He looks baffled at first. “But we no longer need to -” “Did you think I didn’t love every second of it, you silly man?”)

 

She loves regaling them with explicit, detailed memories about how the latest new person in her womb might have been conceived – lord knows she and Sherlock worked at it hard, and John enjoyed (almost) every moment of watching and participating in that. Was it the night Sherlock stole that taxi and she straddled and rode him right there in the driver's seat while John, who'd have taken over the driving if he could, was both terrified and aroused? Was it the night Sherlock bent her over the dressing room counter at that drag club while John did the same to Sherlock (since John was wearing 7'' platform stripper heels at the time and therefore could?) Was it the night of that 12-hour stakeout where the criminals never materialised, and Mary finally insisted they all needed to have sex just to kill the crippling boredom round about Hour Eight? (Sherlock was inside her by Hour Eight-and-Fifteen-Minutes. John's cock was in her mouth by Hour Eight-and-Eighteen-Minutes. By Half-Eight, they'd all come, and were bored again.)

But her heart, and the calendar on her phone, and her 'woman's intuition,' whatever that means, are telling her it was probably that night when she and Sherlock were both, for all meaningful purposes, asleep in John's arms.


End file.
